Night descended upon the white city, pressing against the V’Lorath’s study window.
Shivering candlelight cast shadows upon the parchment laid out on the massive polished table, the cross of red flaming arrows blazing like an insult.
Vhanna stood beside the window, slender fingers grasping curtains. Her fan lay upon the chaise, abandoned.
“A gift,” Vareth sneered, touching the parchment as if the ink itself was poison. “A gift to the Temple. And he used a House sigil, making it official.”
Vhanna spun around; golden bracelets clinking and breaking the light.
“If we decline, we look petty at best; at worst, we risk outright war with the entire Fifth, including Gioden. If we accept, we’re admitting he’s won.”
Vareth’s eyes hardened. “He’s set it all up so all the answers are loss.”
They fell silent, and the howl of the northern wind washed all sound away.
“I worry about Lioran,” Vhanna said softly, and the flame of the nearest lamp shuddered as if it had heard. “Ever since the Temple service, he has been quiet but I can see he’s fuming on the inside. His feathers have just begun growing back in, but his heart will never recover. I fear what this will do to him. How he might react.”
Her husband’s eyes went cold. “Lioran is a boy – and a V’Lorath. This whole ordeal has taught him much more than books and scrolls ever could. By now, he should have learned how to act better than his emotions.”
“Lioran also pushed this boulder down the mountain.” Vhanna turned on a soft rustle of feathers, her voice honed to a blade. “Nevertheless, that dreadful bench might be an insult to us, but it will splatter another coat of tar on our son’s soul. I will not have it. You, as his father, should not allow it. Talk to Alerion. Have it removed, no matter the cost.”
Silence pooled, thick and sticky like spilled honey.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Vareth moved to an intricate bookshelf, pulled out a brown-leather-bound tome, opened it to a page of temple architecture, and ran his finger along the lines.
“Sacred spaces have rules about proportions,” he breathed. “Nothing can be put into space that might disrupt the flow of light.”
Vhanna lifted her chin, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Of course. As High Priest, Alerion must preserve order. And the bench… is likely too large. It would most certainly obstruct the flow of light.”
Vareth nodded slightly. “This is it. This is how we handle it. We accept the gift, but then move it out of sight.”
Vhanna didn’t reply, but a smile touched the corners of her eyes.
In the golden afternoon of next day, Eirran waited outside Temple, arms crossed, skin and feathers bending sunlight like mirrors as he observed the workers bring in the white marble bench. As he instructed, it was simple and unadorned, apart from one symbol carved modestly into the base: two crossed flaming arrows.
They had just prepared to bring it inside when High Priest Alerion emerged from the Temple, robes wrapped yet flowing around him like combination of scales and feathers. He stood before the bench, eyes dark and empty like a cave in a winter night.
“Venn V’Asanii,” he said, voice saccharine like a bowl of candied fruit, “the Temple offers sincere gratitude for this most generous gift. But I fear it cannot remain here. Unfortunately, it halts the holy flow of light.”
Eirran lifted an eyebrow by a fraction. “Interesting. I did not know that light had a flow.”
Alerion’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Indeed it does. It is the Temple’s holy duty to arrange its space to ensure it’s most sacred purpose – to stand as a monument to the glory of Ellevath.”
“I see,” Eirran replied dryly. “But since this is an honest gift, the Fifth House would greatly appreciate if the Temple assured it was placed in a place fit to appropriately honor such a gift.”
Alerion hesitated. “Of course. The northern sacristy will be most convenient. No direct passage of sunlight.”
“Also a place where no one passes through,” Eirran squeezed out, unable to keep a drip of bitterness away from his voice.
“I would not phrase it like that,” the priest replied unbothered, the sweetness of his voice now smelling like rot. “The sacristy will ensure it’s preserved in pristine condition – as such a gift should be.”
The muscle beneath Eirran’s jaw tensed for a heartbeat.
He turned to Keth, a whisp too sharp. “Have it moved.”
Keth’s face went wide. “My lord… “
“The sigil remains, of course,” said Eirran, his voice yielding with the threat of it. “So all will see that it is an official, impersonal gift.”
Alerion nodded briefly – he had no other option. “Of course.”
After the High Priest had left, Keth stepped in front of Eirran. “This is humiliation.”
“No,” Eirran countered, voice too calm for the tension in his shoulders and wings. “This is tennat, and the game has hardly begun.”
That night, as Eirran was finishing last of his work, signing down the endless orders and regulations, the door of his study slowly crept open and Lily’s small head peeked through for a moment before the rest of her followed.
“I heard,” she said. “About the bench you’ve ordered for me. About them hiding it.”
Eirran didn’t respond. What could he possibly say? That he’d tried? That he was sorry?
They stood there in silence for a long time. Then Lily suddenly said, “It doesn’t matter.”
He turned, his gaze on her face. “What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter where they put it,” she said. “It exists. For now, that’s enough.”
He halted – and then laughed, a sharp, little laugh, like a knife unfolding in layers. “You learn quickly.”
She smiled, dark hair spilling across her shoulder as she inclined her head. “I guess I just wanted to say ‘thank you’.” She said quietly. “For trying.”
His eyes rounded as the quill slipped from his grasp. “You have nothing to thank me for.”
She ignored him, and continued more softly, “Still… I hope people will see it. Someday.”
He put the quill away, walked over to her and lifted her chin with a finger. “They will.”
After Lily had left, and the door to his study had closed behind her, Eirran remained in place. His ghostly self stared back from the cool glass of the window, but his eyes were fixed on the endless darkness that spread beyond.
He was still able to feel the weight of her words. She understood the game at a level that went far beyond her years, not only because she was smart, although she undoubtedly was, but because this life, this world – his world – had forced her to.
His fists clenched at his sides.
“Do you want me to help you finish for tonight?”
Keth’s voice shattered the silence. Eirran flinched, hadn’t even heard him enter. Keth cleared his throat. “I did knock.”
“Of course.” Eirran exhaled.
Keth frowned. “Something is troubling you again.”
Eirran half-turned. “Your eyes sometimes see too much, Keth.”
Keth leaned his head to one side. “Would you have rather I kept my mouth shut?”
Eirran smiled, but said smile was not quite real. “No. Of course not.”
He went back to looking out the window.
“Sometime after that horrible fall when Lily was hurt… She asked me what the world was like from above.” He gritted his teeth before continuing.
“‘I’ll never see that.’ she said. There was no sorrow in her voice, only a statement, as if she were talking about the weather. And I…” He shut his eyes. “I felt my heart twist, as if someone had clenched it in their hand from within.”
Keth was quiet.
That was when I decided,” Eirran went on, “that I’d give her the sky. I’d figure out a way to do it, no matter the cost.” He took a breath. “It took me some time to figure out the ‘how’, though. As you might guess, it wasn’t an easy thing to accomplish.”
He turned full circle to Keth, whose unemotional face concealed a momentary look of confusion, eyes reflecting the flickery lamplight. “And now, after witnessing her courage, I know that it’s time. If it’s their wish to drag her through the mud, I’ll give her the sky, even if it breaks me.”
Keth shifted his feet, searching for words. “My lord… Forgive me, but I’ve never heard of Ilari carrying weight into the air – especially not wingless people. It’s… While admirable in it’s own right… it would be seen as an act against nature and faith. It means…”
“I know all too well what it means, Keth. I don’t need you to instruct me on that.” Eirran’s voice carried more bite than he’d intended, and Keth quickly looked away.
“Forgive me for presumption, but…” He stopped. “Even if we disregard the scripture, the structure of Ilari bodies forbids it. Your bones…”
“…are hollow, our center of balance too high, yes,” Eirran cut in. “And that’s why I’ve been practicing ever since I sent you for the sandbags. Out beyond the city, while everyone is asleep. I’ve been teaching my body how to fly with weight.” A wry smile flickered across his lips. “And it’s working. It’s possible. My muscles are learning.” His jaw clenched tight. “I’ll take her.”
Keth was speechless. He’d served Eirran for years and thought he knew him, but now he was looking at someone he’d never seen before – a man prepared to defy the nature and faith of his own kind for one reason only. To make his child happy.
Eirran eyed him warily. “You think I’ve gone mad.”
Keth shook his head, his throat constricting. When he finally could speak, his voice was lower than usual. “No, sir. I think you’ve truly become a father.”
Eirran met his gaze and nodded once. “Tonight.”
Keth blinked. “Tonight…?”
“Tonight I’ll take her flying.”
It was in the deep quiet of the night that Eirran quietly opened the door to Lily’s room.
She rubbed her eyes, looking at him with confusion.
He wore a woolen cloak cast loosely over his arm, and his face the look of a man who was about to do something reckless, yet unavoidable.
“Come with me,” he breathed, giving her the cloak. “Put this on.”
She did not demand to know why, although her heartbeat battered against her chest. She simply got up, slipped on the gown, and let him drape the cloak over her shoulders.
Their eyes met for an instant – hers filled with trust; his with resolve.
He led her through dark corridors and up the spiral staircase to the top terrace of the palace’s eastern wing.
The breeze was cool and light, surf pounding the cliffs far below in steady, unbroken beat.
Eirran leaned his forearms against the railing, as his wings, impossibly white in the moonlight, unfolded, stretching behind him until their tips seemed to touch the stars.
“Lily, do you know why the Ilari never carry humans?” he asked, staring long distance away.
Lily furrowed her brow. “Isn’t that forbidden?”
He swallowed. “The scripture forbids it, yes – but there’s more.” He broke off. “Our bodies aren’t built for it,” he said quietly. “Our bones are hollow. Our centre of balance placed too high for bearing weight in flight.”
He searched for words. “Even our swords are made of specially light alloys. It’s not so much a question of strength as it is about the distribution of weight and balance – and balance is everything in flight.”
She looked out at the black void in front of them, then into him. “Then why are you telling me this?”
Eirran took a deep breath, then crouched beside her, his eyes at her level.
“Because I’ve been training,” he panted. “For weeks. With sandbags. With whatever I could find.” His fingers clamped around her shoulder, not pressing, but steadying. “With things a lot, lot heavier than you.” He smiled wryly. “And it turned out – I can do it, Lily.”
Her heart paused, then leapt as she took in the implication, eyes stretching wide. “You’re saying… you’ll take me with you? Up there?”
A nod. “If you want me to. Do you?”
Moonlight danced in her eyes as she nodded once more, simultaneously scared and exalted.
Eirran smiled. “Then I want you to promise me something. When we take off, hold onto me tight and – this is very important – don’t squirm. If you’re frightened, speak of it now – but when we’re flying, you must remain steady. It is of outmost importance for us to do this safely. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” Her heart thumped against her ribcage, but she would not let fear snatch this from her.
“Good.” Eirran let out a breath, the relief making his eyes smile. “Do you trust me?”
Her smile swallowed the stars. “Always.”
He drew a long string of rope – their rope, the one knotted on each of their wrists, coiled it tightly around her waist, then around himself. “For additional safety,” he promised. “I won’t let you go. I will not let you fall. Never again.”
Then he lifted her up.
It was harder than he expected. Lily was no sandbag – she was warm, alive, trembling with fear and excitement, every breath shifting her weight unpredictably in increments that were miniscule, yet substantial enough that his body had to compensate for every one.
But Eirran did not falter. His wings beat down hard, and slowly – painfully slowly – they rose into the air.
Lily gasped, arms clinging to his shoulders and neck, legs tightening around his waist. “I’m a bit scared,” she whispered, fear finally breaking through.
“I know,” he said through clenched teeth, keeping his voice and his expression steady and his muscles strained to their limits to counter the drag and imbalance. He beat his wings harder, adjusted his stance, ignoring his body’s protest. He wouldn’t let her see it, wouldn’t let anything steal the magic away. “But you’re doing it anyway. That’s courage.”
And it was – for him as much as for her. What he was doing went fully against scripture; not the first sin he’d committed, but certainly the point of no return.
If they called him sinner, then sinner he would be – regardless of the pain, regardless of the strain.
True faith was always tested.
He kept them low at first, the strokes of his wings slow and deliberate.
But when he could feel her beginning to relax, her fright melting away into awe, he flew higher, his tired wings finally finding the thermal currents powerful enough to lift them both.
“See,” he breathed into her ear, his own body releasing the breath it had been holding as the thermal worked for him. “This is what I see.”
Lily’s eyes snapped open.
Down below, Astochia glowed like a scattering of pearls.
The terraces lay out in like fallen petals, the sea rolling endless – dark, enormous, wrapped in pale moonlight.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, shivering with awe.
Eirran kept his silence.
In that instant, as he flew his daughter above a world that had rejected her, body straining with effort, something deep inside him finally loosened – giving in to peace.
The moment didn’t require words. Or declarations.
This flight – this defiance against all the rules that had strived to separate them – was their truth.
And when at last they descended, his feet hit the stone harder than he meant, his right knee buckling under him before he steadied himself. Lily did not notice, lost in awe.
“Will you… would you…” she stammered, voice full of hope, “Again?”
Eirran smiled, his aching body trembling but his heart impossibly light. “Of course,” he promised. “This is ours.” And it was, something impossible made possible through love and will alone.
And then, in that moment, they both knew – no matter what else the world threw at them – one thing towered above the rest:
they had just written a new scripture,
and the sky was their testament.
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